Belonging to Fear
by Jabberwocky Kid
Summary: A former classmate of Jonathan Crane is on a broadcasted television interview. One-Shot, could continue in the distant future if requested.


Vicky White sat at the set, her eyes scanning over the faces of the audience. Some held curiosity, others were bored. None of them knew why she was on the set, but it had to be the woman who was to be interviewed when the commercial break was over.

She was seated on the set of a local news program. A live audience was behind the camera, as well as camera men, people with large microphones, and people with ear pieces and clip-boards. She was sitting on a plush chair, which was placed slightly turned towards the desk of the host, who was having her make-up done, again.

Vicky twisted the hem of her shirt nervously. She had gotten the email asking for her presence, to be interviewed on the show. She didn't want to go, but as soon as her boss, and boyfriend, saw the email, he gave her two days off for it.

She wanted to be coated in make-up, so she wouldn't look so sick on camera. She wasn't the prettiest thing, definitely not. She had lush locks or dark brown hair, but that was her only good feature, according to her. She had bags under her eyes, dull blue eyes, and average, if not pale skin. Her lips barely had any color to them, and she had a solemn look on her face.

She began to wrap a lock of her hair around her finger, and then her fingers lowered to her necklace, fiddling with the silver. She glanced behind stage to see the host coming back. As soon as she appeared to the audience, her pearly white smile plastered onto her face. The people cheered and clapped. She smiled at them and then sat down.

"Alright; we're on in three…two…one…" a man shouted.

"And we're back, ladies and gentlemen. Right now I have a guest with me; Ms. Vicky White. Former classmate of Jonathan Crane, otherwise known as the Scarecrow. Now, Vicky, can you tell us how your life has been right now?" the host asked, smiling at Vicky.

"Fine. I've lived a…steady life, so far." Vicky answered.

"Where have you been working, if you don't mind me asking."

"I-I do. I do mind. But I can tell you that I'm an editor." she offered, shrugging her shoulders nervously.

"Right, right. Now, how close were you to the Scarecrow?" she asked, acting like she was interested.

"I wasn't. I was in his class, I wasn't friends with him. The closest I ever was, was sitting in the desk next to him." Vicky said.

"Ms. White, what was he like as a child?"

"You mean an adolescent. I'm pretty sure we were both fifteen at the time… He was different." she said, twiddling her thumbs.

"What were his friends like?" she asked.

Somehow, that question offended Vicky. The host, Karen Carmichael had asked a question that had a semi-obvious answer, and she probably wanted to hear me say it on television. Such a viscous gesture, much like the kids who picked on Jonathan…

"Oh…he didn't have any friends…" she said reluctantly.

"Oh, I'm sure even he had friends. Birds of a feather…"

"He didn't have friends." she said in a more serious tone.

"Oka, and why do you think that was?"

"Because people were cruel, and now they're getting what's coming to them." she said.

Vicky was shocked. She hadn't meant to let that slip, even though it was the truth. The audience had let out a gasp, and some booed. Now everybody probably thought she was crazy, just like him.

"Are you defending the Scarecrow? You do understand what you're saying, don't you Ms. White? You are accusing innocent people of turning a normal boy into an insane monster."

"I'm not defending him. He was bullied, and that, added up with whatever was going through his head, is what caused him to be the man he is today, in my opinion."

"So he was bullied. Who bullied him? I mean, what group of people, what clique?"

"Everybody bullied him. Even the lowest of the social ladder. Jocks, geeks, nerds, cheerleaders, wallflowers, Goths, dramatics, posers, hipsters, God forbid the hipsters, athletes, don't you dare mix them up with jocks, actual gangsters, and more that fall into the category as miscellaneous. Everybody." she said, her voice getting quieter with each words.

"And what were you?"

"I, uh…I guess I was a mix between geek and hipster, but I'm not sure how that is relevant."

"Oh! It isn't, you'll have to excuse me. I'm a bit forgetful." she said. The audience laughed. Vicky didn't know whether or not a sign told them to, or they had really lost that many brain cells.

"Anyways, what did he look like?"

"And how is that relevant? It seems like a shallow question…" Vicky trailed off.

"We'll come back to that one. So you say he didn't have any friends? Did he seem okay with that?" she asked.

Vicky began to grow frustrated with Carmichael. She was asking questions that Vicky didn't have the answers to. She wasn't a mind reader, how should she know how he felt? By his expressions, how he grew up, his body language. All she had to do was remember.

And remember she did.

The first day of ninth grade, his text books being frequently spilled in the hallways, the laughing, nobody sitting with him, the regret Vicky faced when each day was over; how she did absolutely nothing. If she just talked to him kindly, maybe he could've had a normal life, but now he's in Arkham Asylum, and likely to break out again.

They always do.

"Jonathan Crane…was confusing to me. He didn't belong, no friends, and he put up with shit." Vicky said, pretty sure her last word was censored. "He wasn't a loser. Losers had their own group. He just. Didn't. Belong. Absolutely nobody, not one person, reached out to him. Now, you are asking me if I think he minded not belonging. Ms. Carmichael…everyone wanted to belong. I think Crane wanted it least of all. He didn't need to belong, but I can assure you everyone wanted to." Vicky said, her once nervous-laced voice replaced with a serious one.

"Hmm. Interesting, interesting. Do you know what his home life was like?" she asked.

"H-How would I? I didn't live with the guy. But…I always saw that he had bruises. No telling where they came from. It could have been anybody. Hell; it could've been the teachers. They didn't like him because he was smarter than them."

"He was smarter than them? I find that kind of hard to believe-"

"He was." Vicky cut her off with an sad, somewhat scared look.

"…Alright. Now, did you ever see his obsession with fear during school?"

"Oh." Vicky began, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Yes, I most certainly did. I mean, at first it started out as simple stuff, putting a cockroach on one of the girl's desk…then it got worse. Once he pushed a handful of snakes into girl's faces. And the most gruesome…I thought he did it out of spite. He took the teacher's cat…and…he nailed it to the wall by its legs. Nobody knew who did it, but me. I always knew…" she said, cringing at the memory.

The audience gasped, made noises of disgust, groans, and shouts of anger. Surely nobody could stomach that. But she only left out the details. She remembered every single moment, from when the lights first flickered on, to when the principal gathered all of the students into the hallway, and to when the janitor went in with a clean bucket of water, and came out with a pail of blood.

"How did you know it was him?" the host asked, now getting interested.

"Who else? That teacher was a recluse, so it would rule out angry exes. Crane had the motive. She had given him a B on some homework." she said simply.

"A B? He killed her cat over a grade, a good one, no less?" she said incredulously.

"It was less than perfection, and that was enough. But keep in mind, he wanted to see her scream, he wanted everybody to be afraid. Crane sent her into an irreversible state of paranoia."

"Whoa…wait, why do you call him Crane and not Scarecrow?"

"I new him before as Jonathan Crane. I can't just call him the Scarecrow, because…I don't know." she admitted.

"Huh. Now…just- what was it like? Was it a dramatic point in your life, if he hadn't become the Scarecrow?"

"…I would have to say yes. It changed my perspective, being around him. I watched him grow up. I was in almost all of his classes, all of his grades. I watched this tormented kid turn into an angry adolescent. A devious teenager. A sadistic, smart outcome of society and it's cruelties. But I can't answer all of your questions. I will never know what he thought, how he changed. Not on the inside. I can only consider that the bullying pushed him."

"Wow. Alright, we have to wrap this up. Thank you so much, Ms. White, for coming onto our show and talking. I have to say I do view him a bit differently." the host chuckled, standing up and shaking her hand. Vicky stood up, as well.

"Don't. Don't ever think differently of him, Ms. Carmichael. Please." Vicky said, her voice wavering. Karen didn't hear.

"Alright, that is all the time we have for our show. Vicky White, everybody!" Karen said, clapping. Vicky wished she hadn't said her full name.

The camera backed up, raised into the air, and veered a bit. It made the aerial view that signaled the show was over, and it was about to cut off to commercial, then the next show.

Vicky drove home immediately. When home, she immersed herself in memories of the past. She remembered watching him. She did nothing, and that tore at her everyday. She spilled some of his private life onto camera, and that made her want to cry.

Little did she know, miles away, through iron gates, into a certain asylum, into the recreational room, and around the television, sat Riddler, Two-Face, Joker, and Scarecrow.

He smirked at the television, putting her face into his memory.


End file.
